


The End of All Things

by mythicalcoffeemug



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackfyre, Character Death, Dragons, Essos, F/M, Gen, Magic, Prologue, R Plus L Equals J, The Prince That Was Promised, The War for the Dawn, Tragedy, Valyria
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-06 06:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14050674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythicalcoffeemug/pseuds/mythicalcoffeemug
Summary: Magister Illyrio plays a dangerous game. Harbouring both the last Targaryens and the last of the Blackfryes, but children care little and less of names, titles and ancient family feuds. This is the story of the last Blackfyres, the forgotten grandchildren of Maelys the Monstrous and how their existence might change the game of thrones. As history can attest to, its difficult to snuff out the fire of a dragon. Targaryen or otherwise.- Will add more characters and tags as the story progresses.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The canon divergence is the very beginning of season 7 of the TV show. However I have read the books and will incorporate some of the ideas from them, but not all. Everything in the show plays out the same, until season 7.  
> Changes made from Canon (Books and TV):  
> \- fAegon doesn't exist  
> \- Daenerys and Viserys live with Illyrio from when shes 7 until she marries Khal Drogo as opposed to just a few months.  
> This chapter is a prologue. It introduces my OC and a bit of his history.  
> This is my first fanfic so please comment!

**Prologue**

  **A Difficult Choice**

Above him was a dark canopy dotted by millions of burning stars. The night skies. They reminded him of the view from his balcony; of the night fires the red priests would scatter throughout the city. Around him, the gardens were quiet. The only sounds were that of the gentle breeze weaving its way through the many leaves of the surrounding cherry trees. “What do you think they are?” came a soft voice to his left. Despite the time of night, two small figures, both silver haired and no more than nine, lay with their backs to the lush grass and eyes to the stars.

“I’m not sure,” he responded quietly. His arms were crossed behind his head. “Some say they’re the souls of the departed looking down at us.”

“Souls? Really?” she asked curiously. “My family might be up there somewhere?” Aerion’s gaze was drawn from the sky to his companion. She lay within an arm’s length. He could see the hope in her violet eyes. “I can’t remember them.” Her words were barely a whisper.

Aerion subconsciously touched the heirloom that hung around his neck. It was made of the rippled, black-gray patterns of Valyrian Steel. The pendant that decorated it was in the shape of a three-headed dragon. He could not remember his family either. According to Illyrio, the necklace was the only thing of hers that remained. Their mother. He was under strict orders never to let Viserys see it. Why, he did not know; but he didn’t argue. He kept it tucked away.

He was born in Lys alongside his sister. His mother passed months later. His father remained unknown to him. Some say he was a pirate or some exiled Westerosi lord.

Since infancy, his sister and himself called Magister Illyrio’s vast manse home. They were well provided for and for that he was grateful. Aerion wasn’t a fool however. He may be young, but a man like Illyrio Mopatis does not achieve wealth such as his by giving something and not asking for something in return. “Maybe… Maybe my mother is up there too.” He finally responded, not really believing his words, but knowing she would appreciate them all the same.

“Aerion.” she said. “Don’t lie to me.” Her face had lost its hopeful gleam, replaced by a meek expression. His heart wretched at the sight – it always did. “What do you _really_ think they are?” she repeated.

“My teachers say they’re massive balls of fire.” He responded truthfully.

“They don’t look very big,” she said with light sarcasm in her voice.

“I’m told they’re very far away Princess.” He replied in kind. Their whispered laughter pieced the quiet. Being so young, they were expected to be asleep or at least, in their chambers. But these stolen moments under the stars were the only times Aerion and Dany could be themselves, out from under the critical eyes of Illyrio, the servants, the guards and especially Viserys. The older Targaryen was utterly possessive of Dany, and he was not overly fond of Aerion nor his twin.

 “Will Rhae be joining us?” Dany asked leaning up on her elbow. Her was hair practically glowed in the starlight. Rhaena usually accompanied the pair when they snuck into the gardens at night.

Aerion shook his head. “She’s not feeling well.”

“Oh, I hope she feels better.”

He smiled at her concern. “I’ll tell her.” In all things that mattered, Dany was the opposite of her brother. She was calm and caring whereas Viserys was cruel and quick to anger. Aerion often wondered how two siblings could be so different. Sure, Aerion and Rhae had their differences –  he was better at languages and his temper burned slightly hotter, while Rhae was much more intelligent, and vastly more stubborn. But they still cared for one another. Rhae was the only family he had left. Without her he’d be alone.

“Oh Look!” Dany’s sudden grip on his arm broke him out of his thoughts. “You missed it! I saw one!”

“A shooting star?” he asked. She nodded eagerly. “What did you wish for?”  

“I can’t tell you.” she said, scandalized. “Then it won’t come true.”

“Who told you that?” he laughed.

“One of my maids.”

“Does the _Prince_ know you’ve been talking with the servants.” At the mention of Viserys the mood grew dark.

She looked him in the eyes and frowned. “No, and my _brother_ doesn’t need to know.” Her voice was sharp. It was rare and never in front of Viserys, but there were times when the Princess would show her claws.

“You know I won’t tell him,” he joked. She carefully giggled with him and the brief tension was forgotten. Aerion was up there with the Usurper in Viserys’ not so humble opinion. According to the Beggar Prince, Aerion’s hair wasn’t quite the right shade of silver and his eyes, not the right type of purple. The feeling was mutual.

The pair returned their attentions to the stars. He would often fantasize about dueling Viserys. Truly dueling, with real steel. Aerion knew he would win. Despite their age and size difference, Viserys was a poor swordsman. But one doesn’t simply _duel_ a prince.

After several moments Dany broke the silence with a quite whisper. “I think I’ll have to marry him.”

Aerion’s heart dropped and the quiet that permeated the garden grew deafening. “Wha – what makes you say that?” he responded carefully, swallowing hard.

“He’s always talking about keeping the line ‘pure,’ and our parents were brother and sister.” Dany shrugged, almost accepting her fate. “I don’t want to though.”  

Aerion didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. The thought of Dany marrying her brother, Valyrian blood or not, made his skin crawl. He was young, but marriage wasn’t unknown to him. Sometimes he dreamed of marrying Dany himself. The empty gardens quickly grew unnerving, the warmth of the cherry trees was replaced by images of the older, larger prince.

“Marry me then” he asked on impulse, only half joking. They were both far to young for such things, but the idea pleased him just the same.

“Marry you?” she laughed, baffled by the suggestion.

“I am yours,” he started the vow, fighting the urge to chuckle, each word sounding more and more ridiculous.

“And you are mine.” To his surprise she continued, albeit in jest.

“From this day, until the end of my days.” They recited in unison before breaking out into a fit of poorly concealed giggles.

Once their laughed died down they fell into a comfortable silence. Only the sway of the trees and twinkle of the stars kept them company. Aerion was so lost in his thoughts that he quickly lost track of time. He yawned and stretched his arms. _We should probably get back,_ he thought.

Suddenly, a decidedly un-princess like snore came from the prone figure laying by his side. Stifling a laugh with his hand he quietly got up and moved to her side. “Princess?” he asked, gently nudging her shoulder. “Dany.”

“Mmm,” came a grumbled reply. He smiled then nudged her again.

“Come on, you can’t sleep out here.”

Her eyes fluttered open. His lilac eyes met her violet ones. “Why not?”

“Its not safe,” he said trying to talk some sense into the sleep addled princess.

“You’ll protect me, Husband,” she mumbled sarcastically, turning to her back to him and closing her eyes once more. He nudged her again, she ignored him. He checked to make sure they were still alone then he knelt and attempted to hoist her on her feet. “What are you doing!” she hissed.

“Getting you to bed Princess.” His plan worked, Dany stood on her feet glaring at him. “Come on.” She unenthusiastically took his offered hand. He led her out of the garden, avoiding the guards with practiced ease. They weaved through the tiled courtyard and the carpeted hallways, back to her chambers. “Goodnight Princess,” he whispered once they had reached the door to her room.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked, her eyes not leaving his as she slowly pushed the heavy door open.

He nodded, “I promise.”

She gave him a small smile. “Goodnight.” He watched as her silver hair and small form disappeared beyond the threshold.

Quickly but quietly he made his way back to his chambers. He suspected the guards and by extension, Magister Illyrio, knew of their night time activities. Fortunately for everyone they neglected to mention it to Viserys.

Reaching his door, he slowly pushed it open, not wanting the sound of the metal hinges to alert anyone. His chambers were large and had a distinctly “dragon” motif. Across from the door, tall doors decorated with Myrish glass opened to a balcony that overlook the city and the Narrow Sea beyond. To his right was a large bed covered with ornate Braavosi linens. Illyrio’s wealth was near limitless and he went to great lengths to show it off. Opposite the bed, sat a large desk, barren except for a few scrolls and half melted candles.

He walked over to his bed and began to relieve himself of his grey tunic. He paused when he noticed a small piece of parchment placed carefully on one of his pillows. He frowned, picked it up and began to read.

_I’m sorry, I cannot marry him. Don’t follow me._

The words confused him. _Marry him,_ he thought. At first his thoughts turned towards the Princess and their recent conversation. _Had she left this?_ No, he was with her all night. He recognized the delicate scrawl. _Rhae._ His eyes widened at the realisation and his palms began to sweat. The letter was from his sister. _Marry who?_ Who could his sister mean. They were far to young to be thinking of marriage. It would be years before she was a woman grown.

A gaunt, pale, cruel face twisted in his mind. He nearly fell to his knees. _No, not him._ Viserys. There was no one else she could’ve meant. His sister was to marry the Beggar Prince. Suddenly the letter began to feel heavy. He let it fall to the ground. _What was she apologizing for?_

Without thinking, he rushed out of his chambers, down the hallway to his sisters. He needed to see her. Not caring to knock, he barged in. _No._ The room was empty. Her things remained. Her desk was still piled high with numerous tomes. The bed was made, the candles were lit, but she wasn’t there. _No, she wouldn’t._

_Don’t follow me._ The words struck harder than any blow he had received while sparring.

_She would._ His stubborn, foolish, headstrong sister would. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Aerion went to her jewelry box. His hands were shaking as he opened the lid. _No._ Their mother’s ring was missing – Rhae’s most praised possession. She was truly gone. He sprinted out of her room and back to his. _Don’t follow me._ The words echoed through his head. All thoughts of sleep forgotten, he began to dress.

Dressed in a pair of brown leather boots, a dull training sword slung across his back with a thick black travelling cloak pulled over his head, concealing his signature silver hair, he took one last look at his chambers. The only home he has ever known. He paused as another thought slipped into his mind. _Dany._ He cursed. He would be leaving the princess. He promised her. The princess or his sister. He cursed again. The gods were cruel indeed.

Stealing himself he made his choice. If he was quick, he would find Rhae and bring her home before anyone noticed their absence. She would never marry Viserys. They would figure something out together. They always did.

His final thought as he slipped out into the city below was that he hoped the Princess would forgive him. He might not be back tomorrow.

 

**The Magister’s Wife**

“And this one?” she asked softy, ever the seductress as her finger followed a faint scar that cut through his brow.

“Funny story that,” he responded. Aerion lay on his back, eyes closed and completely naked save his necklace. Draped across him, equally naked, was a woman, lithe and beautiful. Her hair smelled of cherry that reminded him of happier times, of nights spent under the stars. “Small disagreement,” he explained. “Drunken fool thought I dishonored his daughter.” The two were entangled in her lavish bedding. It was well past dawn, but both were content to remain abed.

“And did you? Dishonour her?” she asked, amused.

“I never found out,” he paused. “He didn’t explain who his daughter was or what she looked like. Cut me with his glass before I realised he was even speaking to me.” He chuckled softly.

Her hands travelled lower to his torso. “What about this one?” she asked, her fingers now tracing the three pink parallel lines on his ribcage. “This doesn’t look like it came from any weapon I’ve ever seen.”

“Tiger – near Qohor.”

“Qohor? You must be the most interesting man I’ve ever met, my Lord.” Slowly, he opened one eyelid. Golden hair filled his vision. She’d said his title in jest but technically he was a lord, though he owned no land and governed no people.  _Lord Aerion Blackfyre,_ he mused. It was a secret he discovered during his time with The Golden Company. At the time he just wanted to fight and perhaps die, he was broken and Rhae's trail had gone cold. The commander must’ve known. He had all but sworn allegiance to Aerion before he could stop him.

Aerion raised an eyebrow. “Met many men, have you?” His question was answered by a playful blow to his side. 

“None like you, so many adventures. I haven’t even gotten to half your scars.” She whispered in his ear seductively as her soft fingers continued their agonizingly slow crawl down his stomach.

With a groan he reluctantly grabbed her wrist, preventing her ministrations. “We should get up.” He began to untangle himself.

His companion looked at him with pleading eyes; pools of turquoise, sprinkled with gold. “If you’re worried about my walking corpse of a husband –” she began, before Aerion placed a finger on her lips, silencing her.

“I’m not, but I didn’t come here for this,” he said, gesturing at their condition. He almost regretted his words when he saw the hurt in her eyes. Aerion had come to Lys for information, information Magister Aronar was rumored to possess. He hadn’t come with the intention of bedding the magisters lovely wife. The man had invited Aerion into his manse. He considered it poor manners to bed the wife of a man who offered you room and board. In his defence, he genuinely thought that she was a serving girl.

The city’s reputation had been well earned.

He stepped off the bed onto the cool marble floor. His clothes were discarded haphazardly, a testament to the nights activities. _Aelora,_ he quickly reminded himself of her name as he bent down to retrieve his silk tunic.

“You came for your sister,” she said flatly, still sitting naked on the large bed, she cradled her knees in her arms. His clothes were immediately forgotten. He turned to look at her.

“How did you –” He almost yelled, worry lacing his voice. It had been nearly nine years to the day since he last saw her. _Rhae._ His twin, his other half, his best friend. The only family he had left. _I’m sorry, I cannot marry him. Don’t follow me._ Nine words. He could scarcely remember her face. “What do you know?” he asked, barely regaining control of his emotions. Nine words, a word for every year spent searching.

That night, when he decided to leave, he doomed the Princess. He chose Rhae over Dany. Then spent the next near decade alone, without either. Hearing that she was sold of to a Dothraki Khal nearly broke him. He couldn’t imagine the meek, kind girl that made wishes under the stars, with a savage Dothraki warlord. He hated Viserys more than ever.  

“She was here. Months ago.” she answered, “she was at my wedding.” Her eyes now firmly avoiding his. _Months?_ He was getting closer.

“You’re just telling me this now?” She flinched. The words came out harsher than he intended. “I’m sorry.” Aerion sat back down of the bed and squeezed her hand. “Please.” It was his turn to plead. “Tell me everything.”

Aelora took a deep breath before answering. “She showed up a few days before I was to be wed. She looked wary, thin, dirty and hungry.” Aerion clenched his jaw and unoccupied fist. “I don’t know how, but she convinced my husband to take her in. The _lecher,”_ She scoffed. “He probably thought she’d share his bed in gratitude.” He glared at her. “Sorry. She didn’t you know – share his bed.” Aerion shook his head not even wanting to consider the possibility. Rhae was _nine_ last her saw her. “Once she was bathed, fed and rested she looked like a completely different person. She was beautiful.” _Is that jealously,_ he mused. For some reason he found the idea that this gorgeous woman would be jealous of Rhae amusing.

“How do you know this woman was my sister?”

“She looked like you,” she started.

“Half this city looks like me,” he interrupted, desperate for her to get to the point.

“If only,” she mumbled. “She had your eyes, and your nose.” To emphasise her point, she poked him on the latter, giggling softly. “and this.” She lightly touched his necklace. The three-headed dragon brushed against her palm. “She had the same sigil on her ring.” Aerion swallowed hard. That confirmed it. Rhae was here only months ago. He smiled.

“What did she call herself. Her name?”

“Rhaenys, like Aegon the Conquers’ wife.” His smile grew, and tears threatened to form. His sister always loved the tales of Aegon and his sister-wives.

“Rhaenys.” He repeated. Aelora nodded. “Did she say where she was going?”

Aelora shook her head. “No, she mostly kept to herself. Completely ignored by my _dear_ husband – much to his ire.” His heart sank, and he lowered his head in defeat. _She could’ve gone anywhere_. “She spent most of her time in the library,” Aerion looked up. Aelora was fidgeting with her hands. Her eyes, distant and unfocused, she was clearly trying to remember something. “Asked me once if my husband had any books about the Freehold.” _The Freehold?_ Aerion could no longer hear Aelora’s gentle voice, his palms began to sweat. He remembered their childhood and his stubborn, hellishly intelligent, headstrong sister. _She would._

“My Lord? Aerion?” He was brought back to reality by a soft pat on the shoulder. “What did I say? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” _I might as well have._

Stuffing the foreboding thoughts away, Aerion looked at his companion. He suddenly realised that the two were still as naked as their namedays. He looked her up and down. “You’re remarkable,” he told her, causing her to blush. He truly meant it. Aelora was both parts beautiful and clever. _The magister doesn’t deserve her,_ he thought reaching up and shoving her back down into the sheets receiving a startled laugh. His sister had survived nine years without him; she could wait another hour or two. Aerion gasped at Aelora’s skilled hands. _Or three._

***

Aelora had begged and pleaded that he take her with him. “Anywhere but here,” she would tell him, but the path Aerion was on was far too dangerous. His destination, if his instincts were right, even more so. Instead Aerion left her a bit of gold – a reward for the information – and the promise of his return. A promise Aerion doubted he could keep. She wasn’t the first women to ask and would probably not be the last.

Aerion now found himself aboard a trading vessel, bound for Tolos, a small city on the western edge of Slaver’s Bay. The Bay of Dragons he corrected himself. As he gazed at the eastern horizon his thoughts turned to Dany. _Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons._ He almost didn’t believe it when word reached him of the Targaryen princess and her three dragons. A Queen now if the rumors were to be believed. A sad smile crossed he face. She may be a Queen now, but she would always be his princess. At least in his dreams. He made his decision long ago. If his sister was truly headed the Doom, Tolos was a likely destination as any. He had never been this close to her since that final night in Pentos. _I wonder if she’d even recognise me?_ He pondered. _Would I recognise her?_

Often, usually late at night, Aerion would think back to that decision. His sister or his princess. He would wonder what would have happened had he chose otherwise. But she was the last Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons now. Aerion was just Aerion, the lost boy who wandered after his lost sister and a Blackfyre. Targaryens never got along with Blackfyres.

The gentle rocking of the ship and the smell of the sea were his constant companions. He was no stranger to the hardships of travel. Ever since his sister disappeared Aerion had been hot on her heels. Nine years. When he left he was just a boy, and she has just a girl. She was his sister. Tears of happiness welled in his eyes. _I’m coming Rhae._ He knew, in his heart, that she was still alive. He would see her again. Finally.

 

**The End of All Things**

Once upon a time, he might have considered his surroundings beautiful, but not today. Eternal fire. That’s what burned around him, fueled by magic. The ground was so hot that in some places it flowed like water. Smoke permeated the air to such an extent it was impossible to see more than an arms length from his face. But by some miracle he had found her. His search had lead him here. Here of all places. Standing amongst salt and smoke.

In Tolos, he thought better of attempting to book passage to this inhospitable peninsula. No sailor in their right mind would agree to sail the Smoking Sea, and if they had, Aerion wouldn’t have trusted them. He was left with only one option; to continue on foot. If she could make it, he could make it.

The journey through the Lands of Long Summer was treacherous, dangerous and utterly devoid of anything resembling civilization, but somehow, against all odds, he made it. Perhaps the gods where finally on his side.

They were not.

The smell of brimstone and sulphur was thick in the air. He had found her. _Rhae._ Surrounded by an inferno. The Doom. The lands of their ancestors. Hell. But he was too late, the Rhaena he knew was gone. A single tear rolled down his cheek before immediately turning to vapour in the heat. Gone was his sweet, stubborn, fiercely independent sister. What stood in front of him was a shell. A beautiful shell, a shell that looked just like her, but a shell non-the-less.

_You must. It’s the only way._ A formless voice drifted though his head.

Their clothes had long since burned away. But their skin remained unharmed. _Fire cannot burn a dragon,_ the voice repeated. Aerion didn’t notice their nakedness – naked except his necklace, and her ring. He had long since discarded his swords in an effort to calm her.

“Aerion,” she whispered, somehow loud enough to be heard over the surrounding inferno. “Please.” She held up a dagger, offering it to him. “Please.” The blade was Valyrian Steel, not surprising considering their location, and beautiful. In any other situation, he would have gladly accepted such a gift. But it was not the dagger itself that stilled his hand. It was what she was asking him to do with it. _Anything but that._ The shell that was once his twin, his other half, his only family, was asking him to plunge the dagger into her heart. To kill her. Perhaps she had truly succumbed to the madness that so often plagued the blood of Valyria.

_It’s the only way,_ the voice repeated. She was calm and smiled at him. How could she ask him to do this?

“No. Rhae, please.” He pleaded, more tears now flowing freely, steaming off his face. “Please, don’t ask this.”

“You must. It’s the only way,” she whispered through the fire and smoke. “It’s either me, or everyone else.”

“Fuck everyone else. You’re my sister, my family.” He yelled, desperation dripping from every syllable. Begging her to see reason.

“Aerion.” Her voice was soothing. She stepped towards him. She was mere feet from him, but the smoke obscured his vision. He stepped back, shaking his head. Pleading.  

“Rhae.” He begged. “I can’t.”

“I was never going to leave this place. I was never going to live for long.” For a moment the shell was his sister again. “You must.” She was gone again. She stepped towards him, holding out the sword. “Do it. Quickly.”

He wanted to flee. To stop this madness. He couldn’t kill her. Nor could he leave her in this hell. Nine years. Nine years he searched for her. Now that he found her, he wished he hadn’t. He closed his eyes and pray to any god that would listen. _Please, I can’t do it. I can’t._ He sank to his knees. The near molten ground went unnoticed.

“You must.” This time the words didn’t come from his sister. He looked around, no one else was there. “You must.” It repeated. It was as if the flames themselves took Rhae’s side. He looked at her. His vision was blurred from sweat and tears. Her silver hair billowed untouched in the searing wind.

“Rhae.” He tried desperately. One last time. “Please. Don’t make me do this.” _This place is truly cursed. I should never have come here. She should never have come here._

“Aerion.” She said as she gracefully stepped through the flames that burned between them. “I love you brother.” Their identical lilac eyes met. Suddenly, to his utter horror, he grasped the offered weapon. His body had betrayed him. His movements were no longer his own. _Please, no,_ he thought, desperately trying to fight it.

“I – I love – you too.” He struggled to speak. _Please, kill me, not her,_ he pleaded to whoever or whatever was compelling him. It ignored him.

“Goodbye, baby brother.” She smiled at him. Peace and acceptance shined in her eyes. Eyes he would shut forever. He plunged the dagger into her heart with an agonizing cry. She smiled at him one last time before her body began to fall. He caught her with a sob. _Why._

His tears fell on her motionless face as the light left her lilac eyes. All around them, the flames grew larger and more intense. His heart wrenching cries were snuffed out by the consuming flames. The light from the flames blinded him. He shut his eye hoping to save his sight. He didn’t notice that his sister’s now lifeless body had begun to burn. The cursed blade melted along with her. Aerion began to lose consciousness Over the thunder of the inferno, a great roar was heard. It was so loud that the fires were silent by comparison. The ground shook and Aerion drifted into the dark. Hoping he would meet his sister on the other side.


	2. An Unexpected Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected guest arrives on Dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advanced for the shameless Lord of the Rings references in the story title and chapter titles.  
> Edited on: April 8th, 2018

**Daenerys**

All her life she had dreamt of Dragonstone, the place of her birth, her family’s ancestral home. But it didn’t feel like home, the halls were too barren, her chambers were too unfamiliar, the people who called the island home were scarce and unfriendly, and the weather was far colder than any she experienced in Essos. Dany disliked the cold, she was a creature of fire.

Home. She had always thought the term obscure. Something others had but not she. In her childhood she might’ve called the small house in Braavos with the red door and lemon tree home. Later, she might’ve called Illyrio’s manse home. Dwelling on home never brought Dany warm thoughts. _My children are my home._

She wished to leave this island – to take back her birthright. She was closer now than ever before. She had the armies and she had three large dragons. Her Hand, Lord Tyrion had recommended patience, something she reluctantly agreed with. Wars take time. But the darker side of her, the dragon, knew she could take King’s Landing, burn Cersei Lannister, and sit the Iron Throne tomorrow if she so desired. _Fire and Blood._ No, Dany was not known for her patience.

Fortunately for the Cersei Lannister’s of the world, she didn’t want to be Queen of the Ashes. She hadn’t come to Westeros to conquer it. She came to liberate it. To save it.

Her only experience with battles and war, was in Slaver’s Bay. The fact that the bay was now known as the Bay of Dragons was a testament to her success. But Westeros was a different beast. The Lords of Westeros would not fall as easily as the Great Masters had.

She had been on Dragonstone for nearly a fortnight. In all that time, they had done nothing but talk and plan. Until today.

Dany sat alone in her chambers. A large room that had once belonged to Aegon the Conqueror and perhaps her parents or even Rhaegar. She dressed in a thin lilac nightgown that Missandei had somehow acquired. Earlier in the day, a war council was called, and orders were given. Things were in motion. Soon the Dornish and Reachmen would converge on King’s Landing and The Mad Queen’s brief reign would be at an end.

She smiled at the thought.

In front of her stood large hearth containing an equally large fire. It was rare for her to have a moment alone to think. To contemplate. With a sigh she sipped from her goblet. A thousand problems and one danced through her mind and made it difficult to think, the upspoken cost of ruling. It was no wonder more than a few of her ancestors had gone mad. She shook her head free of such grim thoughts and prepared for bed. Pulling the ample furs tight to ward of the chill, she quickly drifted off into nothingness.

That night she dreamt of winter. Of a darkness so dense it blocked out the sun. The darkness spread. She felt as though the oppressive gloom would swallow her whole. But there was light amongst the dark. Beacons of hope. One to the far north and one to the east. “The dragon must have three heads,” an unknown voice called out to her. The beacons grew larger and larger until the darkness burned away. All around her fire danced. “Dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power,” the voice continued. “He is coming.” Something approached through the inferno; silver hair and lilac eyes emerged from the flames.

She woke, startled, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. The sun had risen above Dragonstone, she must have overslept. Dany quickly rose out of bed and rushed over to a wash basin. She splashed the cool water on her face as she tried to collect herself.

“Your Grace?” asked a soft voice that belonged to Missandei. Her advisor gave her a concerned look. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Dany asked, still startled from her dream. _A dragon dream_ , she realised. It had been awhile since she’d had one.

“I apologize, Your Grace. I’ve only just arrived.” Missandei looked as though she wanted to ask her a question but chose otherwise.

“No, I’m sorry – Just a dream.” Dany sighed, but her mind was still reeling. The pair spent the next few minutes getting Dany prepared for the day. She put on a thick black dress embroidered with red designs. The colours of her House. Dany had taken to wearing her hair in a long braid like that of the Dothraki and today was no exception.

“I wish to visit my children,” she said after breaking her fast on a simple meal of bread and eggs. Her children always served to calm her mind and reassure her faith.

Accompanied by Missandei and two Unsullied, she made her way to her favourite spot – a tall, grassy cliff that overlooked Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea beyond. She stood there in silence as they watched Viserion and Rhaegal dance in the sky. One chasing the other then vice versa. Drogon, she assumed, was off hunting. She longed to fly. It was maddening being cooped up while her allies fought her battles. Fought her war.

She stood there peacefully with her arms folded in front of her. To others, the sight must have looked strange, but she didn’t care. When she watched her children, her problems seemed less daunting.

“They’re very beautiful,” Missandei said from her right.

She was about to agree when a voice came from behind. “My Queen, a red priestess from Asshai is here to see you.” The voice belonged to Grey Worm. She gave him a quick nod and reluctantly started for the throne room.

She took one last look at her children. In the distance she noticed dark clouds rolling in from the east. A storm was coming, and it was coming quickly. 

As Dany, Grey Worm and Missandei entered the throne room she noticed the red priestess standing calmly at the base of the raised dais. Lord Varys and Lord Tyrion stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves. The spymaster’s eyes never left the red woman.

The red priestess bowed her head respectively. “Queen Daenerys,” she spoke in High Valyrian. “I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honour to meet the Breaker of Chains.”

The forwardness of the priestess surprised Dany. “The Red Priests helped me bring peace to Meereen. You are very welcome here.” The red priestess smiled and nodded. “What is your name?”

“I am called Melisandre.”

To here left Lord Varys began to speak. “She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne. It didn’t end well for Stannis Baratheon did it?” His tone was sharp. Lord Varys didn’t trust this woman.

“No, it didn’t.” Melisandre switched to the common tongue. Dany’s temper flared, but not at the red priestess, at her spymaster. Old alliances did not matter. Nearly all her advisors served another at some point. Varys included.

She slowly turned to her spymaster and shot him a look that told him to be silent. He dutifully bowed and obeyed. “The Lord of Light doesn’t have many followers in Westeros, does he?” Dany asked as she turned back to face Melisandre.

“Not yet,” she responded. “But even those who do not worship the Lord can serve his cause.”

“What does your Lord expect from me?” she asked with rising impatience.

“The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.” Dany eyebrows shot up. _Prince._

“I’m afraid I’m not a _prince,”_ she replied sarcastically. In the distance thunder rumbled, and rain started to fall against the stained windows of the castle. The storm had arrived.

“Your Grace, forgive me but your translation is not quite accurate.” Her advisor and translator corrected. “That noun has no gender in High Valyrian. The proper translation is ‘the prince or princess who is promised will bring the dawn.’”

“Doesn’t really roll of the tongue does it?” said her Hand, ever witty.

“No, but I like it better,” Dany quipped. “You believe this prophecy refers to me?”

Melisandre looked solemn and took a deep breath. “Prophecies are dangerous things. I believe there are those who have a part to play in the war to come.”

“I assume I’m one of those people?” The priestess nodded. “The others?”

“The King in the North, Jon Snow.”

“Jon Snow?” Tyrion’s eyes narrowed. “Ned Stark’s bastard?”

“You know this man?” Dany asked, intrigued.

“I travelled with him to the Wall when he joined the Night’s Watch.”

“And why do you think your Lord of Light singled out this _Jon Snow_.” Varys asked, obviously skeptical. “Besides the visions you’ve seen in the flames, of course.”

“As Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon Snow allowed the Wildlings south of the Wall, to protect them from great danger. As King in the North, he united those Wildings with the Northmen so together they could face their common enemy.”

Dany was impressed. “He sounds like quite a man.”

“Summon Jon Snow. Let him stand before you and tell you about some of the things that have happened to him. Some of the things he has seen.”

Silence descended on the Throne Room, the storm outside grew more and more intense. “And the others?” Lord Tyrion finally asked. “You said ‘there are _those_ that have a part in the war to come.’ As in, more than two.”

“There is one other,” Melisandre answered cryptically. “He is coming, and he’ll be here soon.”

_He is coming._ Dany almost flinched. It was the same words from her dream. Her small council exchanged a mixture of glances. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Before she could answer the door to the throne room burst open revealing Qhono. The Dothraki bowed before speaking. His voice was urgent. “Khaleesi, there is something you should see.”

**The Unburnt**

It was dark. Terrifyingly so. He was floating; floating in the darkness. _Am I dead?_ He asked himself – he hoped so. His sister was. Killed by his own hand, _Rhae._ Aerion’s heart shattered the moment his blade pierced hers.

Death was the only escape from the pain.

Aerion remembered everything. He remembered hoping and praying his sister was safe and alive. He remembered the feeling of dread when he discovered she had ventured into the Doom. He even remembered the miracle of him finding her, stumbling around in a blazing inferno. The heat and flames unnoticed by both.

He remembered the voice. The voice that begged him to kill her. It came from her lips, it sounded like hers, but it didn’t belong to her.

Floating in the darkness, he saw the beautifully crafted Valyrian steel sword sink into her chest. If Aerion could cry, he would. But the darkness allowed for no emotion.

He thought death would be more… eventful. Time had no meaning in the void.

_Perhaps this is one of the seven hells._ He wasn’t a pious man. _Eternity, floating in nothingness. Eternity, doomed to relive my actions._

Over and over again he saw his sister fall, he watched as the light left her eyes, he felt her body grow limp in his arms. Every time he wanted to cry out, to curse his name, to plead for forgiveness.

His body wouldn’t respond. He was trapped. Trapped floating in the darkness, with nothing but painful memories to keep him company.

“ _Wake up_ ,” a familiar voice drifted through the dark, interrupting his misery. “ _Wake up Aerion_.” He struggled in vain, but this was no dream. There would be no waking up. “ _Wake up_!”

His eyes shot open with a gasp.

By the gods, was he sore. His entire body throbbed with each broken heartbeat. _Where am I? How did I get here?_ Aerion asked himself, shirtless and sweating. It had obviously been some time since his last bath.

He was in a castle of some sort. Outside, a storm raged, rain beat against the lone window and thundered boomed in the distance. At the foot of the bed stood two armoured guards pointing two sharp spears at him. He recognised them as Unsullied. “Where am I?” he grumbled. He sounded as if he hadn’t used his voice in days, maybe even weeks.

“Aerion?” A small, soft voice came from behind the Unsullied. Slowly, a figure with long braided silver hair emerged and walked towards him. _Seven hells,_ he thought. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest.

He struggled to find his tongue. “Dany?”

Her eyes lit up at the mention of her name. “Leave us,” she demanded. The two guards complied without hesitation revelling a small man that stood by the door. A dwarf. The dwarf’s eyes narrowed on him in suspicion. “Leave us,” she repeated.

“Your Grace –” the dwarf began to protest.

“Now Tyrion.” Gone was the gentle, meek girl he knew so long ago. In front of him stood a Queen. She had the same purple eyes, but her hair was longer, and her face, a little older. Her tone surprised him.

The man called Tyrion reluctantly left, leaving them alone. “Dany?” he repeated, still not trusting his own eyes. The door to the chamber wasn’t even closed before her features softened and her eyes began to water. Daenerys the Dragon Queen was replaced by the Dany he remembered.

He barely had time to stand before she flung herself into his arms. His vision filled with silver. For a moment they were just children again, no titles or heavy burdens _._ “I thought you were dead,” her voice was soft and broken. “They told me you were dead.” Aerion just held her tighter. His own eyes began to sting. His soreness entirely forgotten.

He didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. The two eventually separated. _Gods, she’s beautiful._ “I’m sorry,” he repeated, at a loss for words.

She just stood there. Her big violet eyes full of conflicting emotion. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she finally said. “Where have you been? Where did you go? Why? Why did you leave me?” Her questions came out like a tidal wave. Her voice growing more and more broken with every syllable. “Why?”

“I didn’t want to. My sister –” His blood ran cold. _Rhae._ The memories all came back at once. The feeling of dread when he discovered she had ventured into the Doom. The miracle of him finding her, stumbling around in a blazing inferno; the heat and flames unnoticed by both. He remembered the voice – the voice that begged him to kill her.

He remembered the blade sinking into her chest.

“How did I get here?”

“Answer my questions first.” Dany said, frowning.

“How did I get here?” His tone grew cold. Dany flinched and tensed up.

“A dragon carried you.”  

“A dragon,” he scoffed. _Why can’t I remember?_ “You jest.”

He watched as her face flushed red and her eyes narrowed. “I do not.” The Dragon Queen was back and for some reason he believed her.

“A dragon? How?”

She shook her head. “I was hoping you knew.”

He examined his scattered memories. “The last thing I remember… Valyria.” He stopped, he didn’t want to tell her this – he couldn’t.

“Valyria? What possessed you to go there?”

“Rhae.” Dany’s eyes widened, and her face relaxed. “I was looking for her.” He finished, dejected.

“And you thought she went there?”

“I know she did.”

“You didn’t find her?” she asked carefully.

Aerion sat back down on the bed. He closed his eyes and sighed. “No… I did.” If Dany had any questions she decided not to voice them. She must’ve understood. His eyes remained closed. He couldn’t face her. “She’s… She’s gone.” Tears threatened to fall but Aerion fought them back. He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of Dany.

She remained silent. Eventually, Aerion felt her take his hand. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Aerion nodded, again struggling to fight back his emotions. The two old friends sat together in silence. He didn’t know for how long, but nothing needed to be said. Both of them had gone though hell, and both had no family left.

“You found a dragon,” Dany said, breaking the long silence. “Or it found you.” The two smiled at each other with teary eyes. Aerion was grateful for the change in topic, even if he was completely confused by the new one. _A dragon? What._

“Dany,” he said. His heart was heavy.

She laughed softy. “No ones called me that in years.”

“They call you Queen now. The Mother of Dragons.”

“They do, and I am,” her voice was soft but sure. “I hated it when my brother called me Dany. But when you said it – say it… it’s not so bad. But when we leave this room, I am Queen Daenerys. I can’t be _Dany.._.They don’t know Dany.”

“Very well, _Your Grace_ ,” he said sarcastically. She was the Mother of Dragons. Aegon the Conqueror reborn but underneath it all, there were flashes of the princess who had once wondered about the stars. The princess he had once thought he would marry. She would always be Dany to him.

Whatever Aerion was going to say next was interrupted by a low grumble that originated in his stomach. “Apologies, I can’t remember the last time I ate… or bathed.” His cheeks flushed. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his breeches were worn and ill fitted.

Her face mirrored his own. “Of course,” she collected herself. “I’ll have someone bring you a meal and draw you a bath.”

“And the guards?”

“They’ll remain.” That wasn’t the answer he expected. “When you are fed and bathed, have one of the Unsullied escort you to the Chamber of the Painted Table… We have a lot to talk about.”

Then she left the room leaving him alone.

**Daenerys**

When she left his chambers, she wasn’t surprised to find what was essentially her entire small council waiting outside. Tyrion glowered at her. Varys was expressionless. Missandei smiled and Grey Worm simply stood there, forever vigilant.

She spoke to Missandei first. “Have someone bring him a warm meal, fresh sheets, new clothes and draw him a bath.”

“At once, Your Grace.” Missandei responded dutifully, disappearing down the corridor.

Dany could practically feel both Varys and Tyrion’s coming onslaught of questions. “Come, this corridor is no place for the coming conversation.”

She led them in silence to the Chamber of the Painted Table. She took her usual seat at the end of the Westeros shaped table and settled in for the long conversation. Tyrion took a seat to her right, Varys remained standing to her left. Grey Worm, as always, stood near the entrance.

“Well?” It was her Hand who spoke first.

“Well what, Lord Tyrion?”

“If it wasn’t obvious before,” he started. “It certainty is now. You know this… Aerion?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“Care to explain how.”

“He’s an old friend.”

“An old friend?” Tyrion asked incredulous.

“We knew each other long ago. I cared for him and trusted him.”

“You _cared_ for him.” Tyrion frowned.

“He was nine, I was eight,” she continued before Tyrion got any false impressions.

Varys spoke next. “Trusted? Not anymore I take it?”

“It’s been a _long_ time. I thought he was dead,” she tried very hard to keep the emotion from her voice.

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know his family name, or if he even has one.”

“I hope I wasn’t the only one who saw the sigil on his necklace.” Varys butted in.

“It was hard to miss, being one of the only items on his person at the time of his unconventional arrival.” Tyrion said sarcastically. Dany tried not to blush at the memory. Aerion had arrived unconscious and half naked. He’s certainly _not_ a boy anymore. “A three-headed dragon and two _Valyrian steel swords_ if I’m not mistaken.”

“He’s had that necklace for years,” she dismissed, feeling the need to defend her childhood friend. “Even when we were young. He never takes it off, even sleeps in it.”

“Some long-lost Targaryen then? Explains his silver hair, purple eyes and the _dragon_.” Dany couldn’t tell if her Hand was joking or serious. There was no way Aerion is a Targaryen. Viserys would’ve told her. _He_ would’ve told her. “He almost looks more Targaryen than you.”

“The sigil is a black three-headed dragon, not red.” Varys pointed out, his tone serious.

“A Blackfyre then?” Tyrion asked. “It’s possible. Unlikely, but possible.”

“It’s black because it’s Valyrian steel,” Dany argued. “Ser Barristan killed the last Blackfyre. Maelys something.”

“Maelys the Monstrous and only the last male,” Tyrion said. “Regardless one necklace isn’t enough proof.”

All these revelations were to much for her. First, a friend she thought dead arrives on Dragonstone –with a dragon no less. Then her advisors accuse him of being a Blackfyre or even a Targaryen. She didn’t know which option she preferred. Aerion had never kept his necklace a secret from her, only Viserys. But they were both young and naïve. At the time she thought the necklace beautiful and nothing else. However, now all these years later, she couldn’t deny the merit of her Hand and Spymaster’s theories. Worse still, Dany had no idea how she would react if either theory provided to be correct. “We will just have to wait and see what he has to say. We have other things to discuss.”

“Indeed,” Tyrion said, changing the subject. “What about Jon Snow? He’s a good man and could make a valuable ally.” She considered his words. “The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. He has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.”

“Very well. Send a raven north. Tell Jon Snow that his _Queen_ invites him to come to Dragonstone… To bend the knee.” Lord Varys nodded and left the chamber. Leaving only Dany and her Hand.

Tyrion got up and poured himself a cup of Dornish red. He offered her a cup but she refused, she needed a clear head at moment. “Jon Snow isn’t the only potential ally,” Tyrion said, taking a sip. “Qhono tells me his dragon is almost as big as Drogon.” She nodded, remembering the Dothraki’s tale. A great golden dragon descended from the clouds, hidden by the storm, and carefully dropped Aerion’s unconscious body right in the middle of the courtyard before flying off. The Dothraki and Unsullied on duty had no idea what to do. They thought the dragon was Drogon until it got closer. “Some say a dragon is worth more than any army.”

“Who’s to say he’d serve me? You yourself believe him to be a Blackfyre. He could be my greatest enemy.” Her words rang hollow. In her heart she knew the Aerion wouldn’t harm her. At least, she hoped.

“You two were alone together for a while.” She didn’t appreciate his tone nor the look he gave her. “No guards, no one. He’s a large man, wouldn’t have taken much. He could’ve ended House Targaryen, his ancestors would smile down at him.”

“Aerion would never harm me.” The words left her mouth without hesitation.

Tyrion smirked and slowly drained his cup. “My point. Blackfyre, Targaryen or some lowborn Lyseni with a dragon. You seem to make a habit of squashing old family rivalries.”

**Aerion**

“Queen Daenerys wishes to speak with me,” he awkwardly told the Unsullied that guarded his door. “Chamber of the Painted Table?” The guard to his left nodded and gestured for Aerion to follow.

“This way,” the Unsullied said in butchered common.

“I do speak High Valyrian,” he told him. The Unsullied didn’t respond. He was led through the intricately decorated Valyrian fortress. Left then right, right then left. Left again. Aerion was thankful for his escort – as if he had a choice.

His hair was still damp but free of the caked-on ash and mud. He had enjoyed his bath nearly too much. His meal was simple but Aerion was starving. It could’ve been burnt horse meat for all he cared.

Dany had gifted him with a finely made black and red tunic and black leathers. So far, her hospitality was unparalleled. _Queen Daenerys,_ he reminded himself.

Aerion was no stranger to waking up in unusual places with no memory of how he got there. However, in those rare cases he was usually accompanied by a lovely woman, or two. Not that Dany wasn’t a lovely woman, she was beautiful, but the circumstances were all wrong. For one thing, the women were usually in bed with him when he woke, not hiding behind armed Unsullied guards.  

He lost consciousness in _Valyria_ and woken up in _Westeros_.

In Westeros at the mercy of Daenerys Targaryen – a women who he had spent the better part of his childhood believing that he would marry. It was a foolish belief, but a small part of him had always believed. They were too young to really know what marriage entailed. All they knew was that it was between a man and a woman, and that the man and the woman would eventually fall in love and start a family. Now, Aerion knew, any marriage of hers would’ve been political. She was the last daughter of a Great House. He believed he was no one. He also knew that Dany had always believed she would marry her brother. _Viserys._ The name still brought bile to his mouth and rage to his heart. _I wonder what happened to him._

All those foolish beliefs died the night he left Illyrio’s manse all those years ago. They died when he chose Rhae over Dany.

And now Rhae was dead.

Rhae’s fate followed him around like a shadow. A dark cloud. Ever present, draining his energy. A constant reminder of his failure. She was his family, his only family. He would’ve follow her to the end of the world. And he did. She led him into the Doom, and she died.

When he reached the Chamber of the Painted Table he pushed his thoughts away. There would be time to morn later. Alone and preferably with lots of wine. The heavy wooden door decorated with the familiar three-headed dragon, was opened for him. Aerion’s brow began to sweat. Hesitantly, he entered.

The chamber was long and narrow. At the far end, the wall opened to the outside and overlooked Blackwater Bay. The storm still raged on. Dusk was falling, and the sky was darkening. Lighting lit up the sky at irregular intervals. Aegon’s famous table took up the majority of the chamber.

However, all these details were lost on Aerion.

From the moment he crossed the threshold his surroundings disappeared right into her big amethyst eyes. She was truly beautiful. The way she was sitting, her posture – it was regal, hard and confident. So unlike the Dany he once knew. He still wasn’t completely sure he if he was dreaming or not.

“Aerion,” her warm voice echoed down the table. “You look better.” She gave him a warm smile and his nervousness dissipated. “Please, take a seat.” She gestured to a spot not far from where he stood. Opposite her.

“Your Grace,” he bowed his head and accepted, taking his place.

“Before we begin, I believe introductions are in order,” Dany had adopted the same regal voice that surprised him earlier. “The man on my right – Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen.” The man Aerion recognized gave him a nod. “My left – Lord Varys, Master of Whispers.” A bald, slightly plump man stared passively at him as if he was trying to read him. “Missandei of Naath, my translator and trusted advisor.” A pretty dark-skinned woman smiled at him. “And to her right – Grey Worm, the Commander of my Unsullied.” It wasn’t lost to Aerion that the Unsullied Commander stood between him and the Queen’s small council. _She doesn’t trust me._ The thought pained him. _Or they don’t._ He nodded at every person that was introduced.

“Aerion,” he responded finally. As he said his name he noticed Dany smirk but her Hand, Lord Tyrion, stiffened and Lord Varys, bristled.

“Just Aerion?” Lord Tyrion asked. _Fuck._

Aerion was unsure how to respond. If Dany took it wrong, it could mean his death. He had no choice but to trust her. “Officially… Lord Aerion… _Blackfyre_.” He almost had to force his family name out. If he was expecting a reaction he never got it. Her advisors exchanged knowing looks, but Aerion only had eyes for Dany who, to her credit simply exhaled. “You knew?”

It was Lord Varys who spoke next. “We suspected.”

Everyone looked to the Queen now and awaited her response. “Do you have any proof?” she asked, her eyes never leaving his. Aerion felt as though his very soul was being judged.

“My mother was Daena, daughter of Maelys,” he answered carefully. “As for proof –” He pulled his necklace out from beneath his tunic and held it up. “This is the only thing I have… Only a fool would lie and claim to be a Blackfyre to the face of a Targaryen.”

“And your father?” Lord Varys asked.

“An knight I was told, I don’t know his name.”

“Very well, Lord Aerion –” he winced at the formal way Dany addressed him. “I believe you.”

“Your Grace, the Blackfyres have been after the Iron Throne –”

Dany interrupted the bald man. “And the Lannisters killed my father, niece and nephew. Yet, Lord Tyrion is my Hand.” Aerion watched as Lord Tyrion went wide-eyed at her statement and slowly downed his wine.

“If I may?” Aerion asked, unsure of his place in the discussion. Everyone turned and looked at him. “I didn’t know my heritage until I was five and ten. I have no desire for the Iron Throne.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Lord Varys spat. Clearly this _Varys_ didn’t like him.

“Enough, Lord Varys,” Dany said, her tone sharp. “Lord Aerion is my guest, you will treat him as such.” The spymaster gave her a respectful bow but never took his calculating gaze off Aerion. Silence descended on the chamber.

“Your dragon… How did you come by it?” Lord Tyrion asked.

“I wish I could tell you. Last I remember I was somewhere in Valyria then I woke up here.” Aerion said. A half truth, but these strangers didn’t need to know about Rhae.

“Valyria?” Lord Varys lifted an eyebrow. “May I ask _why_?”

Aerion didn’t answer, he locked eyes with Dany. She seemed to understand his reluctance. “It doesn’t matter. From what I’ve pieced together he’s lucky to be alive. Not many venture into the Doom and live to tell the tale.” He would thank her later.

“I afraid it does matter, Your Grace,” Tyrion said. “A fourth dragon merits a lengthy discussion.”

He watched as Dany’s eyes narrowed. She was contemplating something. “I will deal with Aerion and this dragon.” She looked outside, it was now dark, but the storm was stronger than ever. “It’s late and I have much to consider.” With a gesture she dismissed her council. One by one they said their goodbyes and left the chamber. Aerion was the last to get up. “Lord Aerion?” He turned around to find her looking pointedly at him. “Please, stay.”

**Daenerys**

Aerion’s smile brought one to her face as well. “Gladly, Your Grace,” he said, his eyes shining with mirth. They were finally alone.

The two silver-haired Valyrians sat, wine in hand, by the great hearth that warmed the chamber. The only sources of light were the fire and the occasional flash of lightning. “Do you remember what the last thing you said to me was?” she asked. She had to start somewhere.

“I do,” he answered, his eyes glazed over. “It was a promise I never meant to break.”

“Yet you did,” she said softy. “Why?”

“I didn’t want to,” Aerion said. “I went back to my chambers to turn in, but there was a note.” He closed his eyes and took a long drink before continuing. “Rhae. She found out that she to marry Viserys and she fled.”

Dany shuttered, she too had spent most of her childhood believing she would be forced to marry her brother. “You followed her?” 

He nodded. “I thought if I was quick enough we would be back in time for morning lessons –” He paused and looked up at her. “Earlier you said that they told you I was dead… Who’s _they_?”

“Illyrio and my brother,” she answered, staring intently at the fire. “They never explained how, or why, just that you and Rhae had died.”

“I’m sorry,” she heard Aerion say again. “I never –”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Had I been there, had I –”

“You what? You would’ve protected me? You would’ve stood up to Illyrio and Viserys? To Drogo?” The words came out cold. 

“Yes, I –”

She nodded. “You would’ve tried, and you’ve died… Aerion we were just children.” He moved his fingers through his hair in frustration. She found herself looking more intently at his features. In their youth she had always found him handsome, Rhae would tease her endlessly until she would blush. Aerion, of course, had no idea. His face had the same elegant Valyrian features Viserys’ had but Aerion’s lacked all the gauntness and cruelty. Now, he was a man grown, handsome and rugged. The scar above his left eye that cut across his brow only added to his charm. His deep lilac eyes told the story of a man that had seen the evils of the world and survived. She was sure her violet ones told a similar story. “Aerion, we can’t change the past. If we look back, we’re lost.”

Aerion stared into the fire for a moment before slowly nodding. He went to drink his wine only to find the cup empty. “Looks like we ran out,” he said as he shook the empty cup.

Dany chuckled and thought back to something Lord Tyrion had once told her. _One day I’ll tell you all about why I killed my father, and on that day, we’ll need a lot more wine than this._ “I’ll send for some more.”

The two settled into a comfortable silence. Both simply enjoying each others company and the warmth of the fire. She wanted to know so much about him and she had so much to tell him. But the events of her life did not make for a happy tale. She’d never told anyone one her whole story. Only Ser Jorah had any idea and Dany wasn’t even sure if her old knight was still alive. The thought made her heart hurt.

“You have questions,” Aerion broke the silence once their cups were refilled.

Dany nodded. “As do you.”

“One at a time then?” he asked with a smirk. She smiled and agreed. “You go first.”

“Where have you been for the last ten years?” she asked carefully.

“Here and there,” he said. “To tell you the truth I’ve been looking for Rhae. Pentos, Braavos, Myr, Qohor, Lys – all over really.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure.”

“It was,” he said sadly with a lost look in his eyes. Dany cursed silently, how could she have forgotten? He had spent nearly a decade looking for his sister only to find her body. “I don’t even know what to ask you… This all seems like a dream.”

Dany had to agree. She was no stranger to unusual events but Aerion’s sudden reappearance in her life had left her shaken and her emotions in turmoil. She hadn’t felt so vulnerable since her children were born. “Where are my swords?” he finally asked.

Dany scoffed in mock offence. “We haven’t seen each other in _ten_ years and first thing you ask me about is the status of your _swords_?”

“They’re very valuable…” He was smiling but she knew he was serious.

“They’re in the armory, under constant guard.” _Why are we talking about his swords?_

He nodded and took another drink. “I suppose it’s your turn to ask a question.”

“You can go again, ‘ _where are my swords?_ ’ doesn’t count,” she laughed, the wine was starting to affect her, she felt warm and happy. _When was the last time I was truly happy?_ She asked herself, she couldn’t recall. The weight of ruling had taken its toll.

“Fine,” he smirked. “The Mother of Dragons? That must be a quite the story.”

Despite the wine, Dany frowned and stared off into the fire. It was quite the story, but it was painful to recall. Eventually she gathered herself, took a deep breath, and began.

At first Dany decided to leave out the painful specifics but as she talked she found herself not skipping any details. At times she would look at Aerion and find his face contorted in anger, sometimes his eyes would glisten with tears, sometimes he would look at her in awe and smile. But he never interrupted her. He just let sat their sipping his wine and listened. Something she was immensely grateful for.

By the time she finished, Dany didn’t know how much time had passed. Outside the storm was still raging and the two had gone through four carafes of Dornish red and had just started on the Arbor golds. Dany was never that much of a drinker. Not like her Hand, but with Aerion it was different. They hadn’t seen each other in years and she deserved some happiness. Some respite.

The pair had grown comfortable with each other and formalities and titles had long since been forgotten. They were just Dany and Aerion now. Two old friends who had faced the evils of the world. Two friends that had very different stories but very similar paths.

“You’re remarkable.”

She nearly choked on her drink. “What?”

“You’re remarkable,” he repeated. “How many titles do you have now? The Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea…You’ve done more than any of your ancestors save maybe Aegon the Conqueror himself.” She pondered his words. “And when you win this war, you’ll be the greatest Targaryen who ever lived, if you’re not already.”

Dany didn’t know what to say. To her, her titles were simply the result of things she’d done. Things she had to do for her survival, and the survival of her people. In her wine addled mind, she recited her titles: _Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons._ She giggled outload, startling Aerion. Even she had to admit the sheer amount of them was getting out of hand. “I was born with half my titles,” she tried to reason.

Aerion didn’t answer he just smiled thoughtfully at her. She looked down at her cup and found it empty. With a yawn she decided it was time to retire. “Come,” she stood up and offered her arm with a hint of amusement. “Escort Your Queen to her chambers,”

To her surprise, Aerion took her arm politely and laughed. “ _My Queen?_ I don’t remember bending the knee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Comments appreciated!


	3. The Day After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read Chapter 1 (An Unexpected Guest) before April 8th, 2018, you might want to reread it. I heavily edited it. The plot is generally the same, but I think it flows better now.

**Aerion**

An insatiable thirst roused him from sleep.

His head pounded with the familiar aftereffects of alcohol. With a groan he reluctantly opened his eyes. He lay in what were now, he surmised, his own chambers. Aerion looked to his nightstand and thanked the gods that someone had to keen foresight to provide a jug of water. Quickly and greedily he poured himself a cup and drank down the heavenly liquid, washing both his thirst and the bitter taste of old wine away with every gulp.

Once finished and his thirst quenched, He flopped on his back, content to sleep off the persistent hangover. Unfortunately, sleep never came.

Even in his bleary state he noticed the lack of Unsullied guards. Two familiar swords had been carefully propped up against his bedframe. He recognised the ruby pommel and the black-dragon crossguard of his older trustworthy weapon and beside it, he saw the jagged black-gold of his other – one he had found amongst the ash and rubble of the Freehold.  

Aerion grudgingly pushed himself off the bed and unto the cool stone floor. With a hiss he stretched his stiff arms and stumbled over to examine his new gifts – a tunic, breeches, boots and gloves were neatly piled next to the swords. They were black, gray and red –  like his other clothes, but these were undoubtedly meant for rougher activities than the finery he had worn the night before. Finery that now lay strewn about his chambers, hastily removed in his drunken state.

Taking another long drink, he thought back to the night before. The memories were hazy but clear enough. Thankfully, he hadn’t gotten to the state where the wine would make it impossible for memories to take root. He remembered listening to her story. An epic tale. They had both been through a great deal, but Dany had suffered more than he cared to think about. But she also had achieved more than he possibly imagine.

Stowing away such thoughts for a later time, he dressed in the gifted clothing, strapped the black-gold sword to his hip and slung the other over his back. It was good to feel steel again. Aerion hadn’t realised just how insecure he felt without it.

He exited his chambers. He found that without an escort he had no idea how to navigate the castle. He vaguely recalled being all but dragged to bed by pair of patient Unsullied and a giggling queen. He looked left then right. To his left the corridor stretched for some ways before branching off in two directions. To his right, the same. Steeling himself, he went left.

Aerion walked for a few minutes through the winding halls of Dragonstone. Each less familiar than the last. _I really must get the tour,_ he thought. Eventually, his wanderings led him outside into a stone courtyard. The heavy clouds blocked the sun but by the angle of the light he could tell it was still early. Very early.

Around him, the sounds of clashing steel rang out as scattered pairs of Unsullied drilled. Weapon racks littered with spears, shields and blunted sparring swords were placed strategically around the perimeter. One by one, the courtyard’s occupants noticed his presence. And one by one they stopped their sparring. Each looked at him with a mixture of suspicion, awe and curiosity. Dany had told him about how he came to arrive on Dragonstone; unconscious, half-naked and apparently in the clutches of a massive golden dragon.

Aerion couldn’t blame them.

He wandered through the courtyard. Despite his empty stomach and throbbing headache, he itched to partake. “Aerion Blackfyre.” He was greeted by Grey Worm. “Have you come to see how Unsullied fight?”  

Before he could respond a loud roar cut across the courtyard. He flinched and craned his neck, trying to find the source of the sound. He watched as an impossibly fast, dark shadow flew over the courtyard toward the sea. He quickly recovered and looked around embarrassed. No one else seemed to even notice the massive interruption. _Mother of dragons indeed._ Enthralled, he followed the shadow out of the courtyard and found himself on a long narrow stair that led down to shore below.

He was amazed. By habit, he fiddled with the necklace that rested against his chest. As a child he had always dreamt of seeing a dragon, even riding one, but he never truly expected that it would happen. Dragons had been gone from the world for centuries.

He cautiously descended the steps, but his eyes never left the dragons flying in the distance. Eventually, Aerion came upon a landing in the stair that provided an unhindered view.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” came a familiar voice filled with pride. He wiped around. Dany approached wearing a thick white dress and looking regal as ever; and perhaps a bit tired.

“Beautifully terrifying,” he answered, turning back to watch the dragons. She settled to his right. “How are you feeling Your Grace?”

“I’ve been better,” she responded, her lips twitching upward. “Lord Tyrion has thoroughly scolded me.”

Aerion chuckled and the two returned to watching the dragons in silence. The sheer size of the them was astounding. Seeing them made everything Dany had told him the night before more real. He began to reconsider everything he knew about the Queen.

“I see you found your _precious_ swords,” she said. “I can see why you were so worried. They’re quite beautiful.”

“Thank you, Dany.”

She shook her head. “Don’t thank me yet. My men are eager to test _the man who fell from the sky_ … And I’ll admit, I’m curious as well.”

“The man who fell from the sky?” he asked, receiving a shrug. He rubbed his temples. “Perhaps later. I’m still a bit… sore.”

Unsullied were famed for their discipline and lack of fear, not their one on one fighting skills. While a single Unsullied possessed far more skill than the average man, Aerion was not average. He had trained since he was old enough to hold a sword. First, Illyrio had provided tutors, then an old bravo had taken an interest in him. After that, his time with the Golden Company further honed his skills. One doesn’t carry around a Valyrian steel sword, let alone two, without knowing how to use it. The steel was worth several times his weight in gold.

Dany smirked. “I can imagine. Lord Tyrion is already morning the lost of wine.”

“Yesterday, Lord Tyrion and yourself both mentioned a dragon? _My_ dragon?” he asked, carefully broaching the subject that had been nagging at his mind.

She nodded slowly.

“I thought there were only three dragons – Yours.”

“As did I. It appears we were both wrong,” she said staring intently at her children.

His mind was back in the Doom. _Was this why Rhae had to die? A sister for a dragon?_ He shuttered at the thought. The pain was still too real. _Was the price I had to pay?_

_“It’s the only way.”_ The memory of the formless voice almost made his shutter. He looked more closely at the flying creatures. He saw a green one, _Rhaegal,_ white one, _Viserion_ and the black one, _Drogon,_ but no gold. _They said mine is gold_. “Where is it?”

Dany shrugged. “Dragons are unpredictable, stubborn, independent – You could try calling it.”

“Calling it?” he scoffed. “I doubt it would hear me Your Grace.”

“Drogon, the one I ride,” she said, trying to contain her amusement as she pointed at her largest child. “Sometimes I can feel a connection, a bond – it’s hard to explain.” He gave her a blank look causing her to laugh. “I never thought I’d have to explain it to anyone.” She scrunched her brow in concentration. “Here, close your eyes.”

He did.

“Breathe… Can you feel a… foreign presence – emotions that aren’t your own?”

Aerion did as he was told. Slowly he breathed in then out, concentrating, trying to clear his mind. He heard the crashing of the waves on the shore below and the wind rustling through his hair. He felt that same chilly wind brush across his skin. Far over the bay, he heard the screeching and roaring of Dany’s dragons.  

In then out. He did so with his eyes closed, for what seemed like ages.

And then he felt it. Deep in the back of his mind. Senses that didn’t make since. Sights that he had never seen, smells that could not be. Like a fleeting memory, he focused on it. Then came the emotions. Slowly at first, then all at once; unbridled primal emotions. Hunger and rage, determination and pride. The flood of memories and emotions caused him to grip the stone wall for support.

He was flying. Soaring above the clouds. A sea of white stretched below him. The sun shined bright above him, causing his scales to shimmer a brilliant gold. He dove down through the blanket of white. The mist rolled over his outstretched wings. He felt powerful.

Aerion could feel the dragon taking his presence as a personal insult. Two minds fought for control of one body. The dragon would not be tamed easily. He pushed and pushed, then as though he opened a door or breached a barrier, memories of a time long forgotten flashed before him.

All around him black towers stretched to unimaginable heights and dozens of dragons, each a unique colour, weaved in between them. Below, hundreds of people, silver-haired and golden-haired scurried, from place to place.

Valyria. Before the doom.

His scattered consciousness recognised the Freehold by description. It was a dream, and like a dream, the memories unraveled just as quickly as they came. Until finally, they vanished. Slipping from his memory.

**Daenerys**

She watched with curiosity as Aerion closed his eyes.

Having him here, with her, still felt surreal; explaining her connection to her children, even more so.  Words seemed terribly inadequate. The first time she rode Drogon she didn’t have much of a choice but ever since that moment, her most rebellious child had become her most loyal. What she shared with Drogon went beyond mere words. In some cases, they were of one mind.

She had considered trying to ride Rhaegal or Viserion, but it felt wrong, none of her ancestors ever rode more than one dragon. The thought left her saddened. Her two children would never have riders. She would be the last Targaryen.

She frowned when Aerion’s face contorted in struggle as he gripped the stone ledge for support. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow. His knuckles went white as his hands gripped harder and harder. She started to grow concerned. She didn’t expect this reaction. Her bond with Drogon was peaceful, it made her feel complete. Two minds working together.

It appeared as though Aerion was stuck in a mental battle. She reached out a touched his hand. His face calmed slightly but his eyes remained tightly closed. Dany was at a loss for what to do.

After what felt like hours, Aerion finally opened his eyes and exhaled sharply. He looked at her in confusion before he collected himself. “Aerion?” she asked, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“What happened?” he asked through bated breath.

“You closed your eyes, then you began –”

“I was flying,” he said. “It was incredible.”

She sighed in relief and smiled. “Yes, it is.”

“I tried to call it, to guide it here, but it… it didn’t want to.”

“It’s okay, we will try again later.”

His eyes were unfocused, and he was still out of breath “You could’ve warned me, about the power, the emotions.”

“Words don’t do it justice,’ she said truthfully.

“No, I suppose they don’t.” 

She started back up the steps. “Have you broken your fast yet?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Then join me.”

“Yes, _Your Grace_.” Aerion said smirking. She wondered if he would ever address her properly, without friendly sarcasm. Not that she minded. When they were alone. She was Dany and he was Aerion. A peaceful respite from her world of necessary formalities.

**Tyrion**

Dawn found Tyrion standing on a high balcony overlooking the courtyard and harbor below. The early morning air was chilly, almost biting. But Tyrion needed to think, to observe. Aerion Blackfyre was a problem and an enigma. Something he was determined to solve.

“They make quite the striking pair.”

He turned to find Lord Varys gliding towards him with his gaze fixed on the silver-haired pair far below. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Tell me Lord Varys, is it not your job to know things?” Varys arched an eyebrow and nodded. “Your friend, Illyrio Mopatis.”

At the mention of the magister Varys’ blank mask twitched. “What about him?”

“The Queen called his manse home for years, correct?” he asked, receiving another nod. “This _Aerion Blackfyre_ was all but raised by the magister. Yet you claim to have no knowledge of him.”

“This _boy_ is not Illyrio’s son. And despite what you might believe, we do not share _all_ our secrets.”

“So, your oldest and most loyal friend harbours the last of the Blackfyres for _years_ and neglected to mention it? Not once?”

“I was aware of silver-haired twins. Illyrio owed their mother a favour. I didn’t question it. The Targaryens garnered far more attention. As did Robert Baratheon.”

“Twins? He has a brother?”

“A sister.”

Tyrion rubbed his beard. “Two Blackfyres and two Targaryens… Quite the collection, wouldn’t you say?” _I wonder where the sister is now?_

“Whatever grand plan Illyrio concocted went up in flames. The twins disappeared a decade ago.”

“Yet, one has miraculously reappeared,” Tyrion mused. “With a dragon no less.”

He continued to watch the Queen and the Blackfyre. They were watching the dragons in the distance. From his spot on the balcony it was hard to make out the details, it appeared as though Lord Aerion was having difficulty standing. He had gripped the stone wall for support while Daenerys looked on. He watched with interest. It remained to be seen whether or not this Blackfyre could be trusted. Childhood friend he might be, but people change.

“The Queen left a lover behind in Meereen only to find another on Dragonstone?” The change in topic was abrupt but Lord Varys was never one to dawdle.

“Daario Naharis was a distraction. She needed allies and the best way to make allies is through marriage.”

“And who would you have her marry? There are no male Tyrells left, nor Martells. Robert Arryn is by all accounts sickly and too young besides. Edmure Tully is married and hasn’t been seen since the red wedding. Your brother isn’t an option and the Westerlands will never follow you.”

“Jon Snow. He brings the North; and the Vale and Riverlands are swore to him through Sansa Stark. Three of the kingdoms. With Jon Snow, the Queen will have Dorne, the Reach, Riverlands, Vale and the North. My dear sister will be surrounded.”

“That’s your master plan, have the Queen wed the Bastard of Winterfell?” Varys said, looking pointedly in the direction of the Queen and her companion, they were now making their way back up the steps and into the courtyard. “Of course, there is one problem.”

He shook his head. “Regardless, the Queen cannot rule the Seven Kingdoms with a Blackfyre by her side.”

**Aerion**

“Your Grace, I have something for you.” It was passed midday and he was standing in the courtyard with Dany, Missandei and Lord Tyrion, watching the Unsullied train. The group had just finished giving him a brief tour of the Targaryen fortress. Aerion was impressed. Despite the dark stone, and distinctly unique motif, the place was incredible. Unlike any building he had ever seen.

His companions turned and looked at him expectantly. Slowly he unstrapped the sword and scabbard that hung on his back, its ruby studded pommel and winged crossguard sparkled in the sun. He held it out for Dany. Lord Tyrion eyed the gift with curiosity and Aerion watched a knowing smile cross his features. The Hand was smart, Aerion was surprised no one noticed his sword before.

“I was given this sword years ago. It has served me well,” he finished as Dany carefully accepted the sword while giving him a questioning look.

Tyrion got a closer look. His eyes shifted from the blade back to Aerion. “It cannot be?”

He nodded. “This is Blackfyre.”

“How?” Tyrion asked. “That swords been lost for decades.”

“Not lost, just hidden.”

“This is _the Blackfyre_?” Dany asked in awe. “Why are you giving it to me?”

He shrugged. “Its yours Your Grace, I am just returning it.”

“This is the most famous sword in the world, save maybe Dawn itself, and you’re just handing it over?” Tyrion exclaimed.

“It belongs to House Targaryen, my Lord. I’ve already told you, I have no interest in the throne or anything else that rightfully belongs to Her Grace.” He said before smirking. “Besides, I can’t rightly wield a weapon with the same name as my house. _Tyrion Lannister wielder of Lannister_ , doesn’t sound right does it?”

This caused Tyrion to laugh. His attention returned to the Queen. She was inspecting the sword, running her fingers over the flat of the blade and tentatively holding it by the grip.

“Keep it.” Dany said sweetly, handing the blade back to Aerion. “It would be wasted in my hands.”

He took the sword and bowed. “Then, Your Grace, I am merely borrowing it.”

“Maybe Lord Aerion can give us a demonstration of his vast skills,” Tyrion said, smirking. “Prove that he’s worthy to wield such a treasure.”

“I agree, Lord Tyrion,” the Queen said, almost to eagerly. “A fine suggestion.”

Dany’s sudden change in demeanor worried him. She was far too happy with Lord Tyrion’s idea. Aerion looked toward the sparring area. “I should warn you, I’m not responsible for any bruised egos.” He quickly unstrapped his other sword and handle both to Lord Tyrion. “Don’t lose these.”

He watched as Dany whispered something to her hand and the pair broke out in sinister smiles. “Grey Worm, Qhono,” she declared. Two familiar figures stepped forward, one a massive Dothraki and the other the Unsullied Commander. Both had determination on their faces. _They’ve been waiting for this,_ he realised. “Try not to kill him, I’m quite fond of him.”

One of the Unsullied handed him a sparring sword. He swung it a few times before decided that it would do. “Two against one?” he asked, sounding more confident then he felt. “At least allow me another sword.”

Dany granted his request and he accepted the second sword. They were dull, heavy and poorly balanced. Typical practice weapons. Aerion was used to the light weight, superior nature of Valyrian steel.

He examined the two warriors, he wasn’t even wearing armor. but neither were they. The Dothraki wielded an arakh. Grey Worm, a spear and shield. Aerion took up a fighting stance as the Queen, Missandei and Lord Tyrion backed off to the edge of the courtyard. A crowd was forming.

He kept his back to the crowd and waited, circling his foes. He would let them come to him. As predicted, the Dothraki grew impatient first and charged at him, arakh raised high. He smirked and sidestepped the blow.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Grey Worm swing his spear. Aerion blocked the blow with an upward slash, shattering the weapon. Grey Worm quickly recovered, discarding the halved shaft as he drew his sword.

Seconds later the Dothraki slashed again, this time at his legs. Aerion once again sidestepped his blow and bashed Qhono with the pommel of his sword, staggering him. He spotted Dany gripping the arm of her advisor and looking at the fight with concern.

He smirked despite himself. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice Grey Worm’s shield until it bashed him in the face sending him to his back and causing stars to litter his vision. His daze was short lived. Aerion rolled out of Grey Worm’s foot as it came down with a vengeance.

The three separated briefly and Aerion regained his feet. He wiped the blood from his nose as he gripped his swords tighter and pointed both towards his opponents, taunting them. “Your Grace, I’m concerned for your safety with these two guarding your back.”

If the Queen responded, he didn’t hear her. Qhono and Grey Worm charged as one. Aerion spread his legs and crouched, prepared for the coming onslaught. Both warriors raised their weapons high, each hoping to deliver the finishing blow.

On instinct, darted forward and he blocked both blades hard. Stunning the two and knocking the weapons from their hands. Not trusting the Dothraki to yield Aerion kicked out his legs, sending Qhono to the dust. As he turned around to finish off the Unsullied Commander he was met with a flash of black. The shield once again knocked him off his feet.

This time Aerion saw more than just stars. He saw an explosion of fire. Unending black towers crumbled upon themselves. Screams of man and dragon alike tore through the sky. Then it was gone.

He hit the titled floor. His swords clattered out of his grip. Grey Worm quickly placed his boot firmly on his chest, preventing him from getting up. “Yield,” he commanded. Aerion’s head felt like it had been split open.

He raised his arms in surrender and accepted Grey Worm’s offered hand. He saw Qhono still struggling to push himself of the ground, looking furious. All three of them were breathing heavily.

The courtyard was silent.

“You fight well,” Grey Worm said. “But unfocused, arrogant.”

He pinched his nose. It wasn’t broken, but it was bleeding slightly. Thankfully, the pain had already begun to subside. “Best two out of three?” he asked, smirking at the Unsullied Commander.

Grey Worm gave a deep laugh but Qhono looked like he had seen a ghost. He watched as the Dothraki unsteadily grabbed a knife and lifted it to his braid. Suddenly remembering the Dothraki custom Aerion grabbed his hand. “No, this was practice. Not battle.” Qhono lowered his knife and looked at Aerion with newfound respect.

Still holding his nose, he staggered back towards the Queen and Lord Tyrion. Both looked shocked, and in Dany’s case, there was a hint of something else. He thought it might be pride, pride in himself or her men. He hoped it was the former even though he had technically lost.

“Well?” he asked the pair. “Am I worthy?”

“I…The…” Dany composed herself and nodded.

“Where in the _seven hells_ did you learn how to fight like that.” Tyrion hissed, handing back Blackfyre and the other yet unnamed blade.

Aerion accepted the swords but ignored his words. He limped past and sat down on a bench. Someone handed him a wineskin. He uncorked the skin and took a swig, staring blankly at the titled ground.

“Aerion… Are you hurt? Have someone look at you nose.” He heard her through the ringing in his ears.

“It’s nothing,” he said, gingerly touching it with his hand. “Just a bit of blood.”

“Aerion,” Dany repeated. Her glare made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer. With a groan he agreed. She took his arm and guided him back into the fortress. Lord Tyrion followed at a distance. Missandei appeared to be fussing over Grey Worm.

**The King in the North**

“She has three dragons!” Jon argued. They had had this argument countless times. “The Northern armies aren’t enough, we need allies.” They were in his solar. Jon was leaning on a table that contained a map of the North. In front of him, Sansa paced the length of the room. If Tyrion’s letter spoke the truth, this Daenerys Targaryen was the best hope the North had – the best hope Westeros had in stopping the Night King and the Long Night. 

“She’s a _Targaryen_! Our Grandfather and Uncle –”

“I know!” he interrupted. She didn’t understand. The Night King was coming, and he didn’t care about the living and their petty politics. “I’ve made my decision and my decision is final.”

“Father and Robb rode south too,” she shot back, desperate to get Jon to listen.

“Enough Sansa,” he ordered. She huffed in defeat and barged out the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He closed his eyes and messaged his temples. All this planning and arguments were giving him a headache. There was too much to consider, too many pieces to juggle. He never wanted to rule, Lord Commander or King in the North, yet here he was. But if being King allowed him to prepare the realm and its people for the Night King, then so be it. It was a burden he would gladly bare.

He knew that Sansa and the Northern Lords had valid points. It was risky, and probably a trap, but if it wasn’t, this was the best opportunity he was likely to get. He had no choice.

Jon took a final sip of his ale, grabbed Longclaw and set off for the godswood.

Winterfell was bustling. Men and woman rushed from one place to another. Smiths clanged their hammers and solders sparred in the courtyard to pass the time. Jon had never seen Winterfell so busy. So full of life.

People he didn’t know. His Winterfell was gone.  

The buildings were the same, the muddy roads and smoking chimneys were the same, but this wasn’t his Winterfell and it didn’t feel like home. The people were all different. Ser Rodrik, Hullen, Jory, even Maester Luwin were all gone. His father, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, Lady Catelyn – all gone. Dead and missing. Sansa was the only family he had left.

The presence of the Northern Lords and their men caused the castle to feel more like a city. Or what Jon imagined a city to feel like, he’d never been to one, but that would change in the coming days.

At dawn, the horses would be readied and Jon, Ser Davos and thirty northern volunteers would ride for White Harbor. Then sail to Dragonstone. For good or ill.

He knew his story was hard to believe. Hell, he might not have believed had he not seen. He knew Sansa trusted him, but he doubted she truly believed him. Most of the Northern Lords probably humored him, but for now, if they followed his instructions he didn’t care if they believed or not. They’ll all discover the truth sooner or later. _Hopefully later, much later._

He entered the godswood. The hour was growing late, and the thick canopy only hastened the coming dusk. It was quiet, eerily quiet, the godswood always was. The sound of his swift footsteps was soaked up by the moss cover ground. Jon came here to think. A habit he picked up from his lord father.

As he walked through the dense grove his thoughts dwelled on home. Not Winterfell, but the North. If his trip was successful and Daenerys Targaryen didn’t kill him, then he would be likely begone for weeks, perhaps months. If his trip was indeed a trap, he would never walk the godswood again.

If the Night King gets passed the Wall and he isn’t ready – none of it mattered.

He sat upon an exposed root that belonged to the ancient weirwood that dominated the godswood. He unsheathed Longclaw, not to polish it like his father, but to simply admire the ripples that ran through the Valyrian steel. This sword, along with Ghost had seen him through trials and tribulations that most couldn’t even imagine.

But not all. He didn’t like to think about it, but one’s death wasn’t something that one forgets. Subconsciously his hand traced his scared torso through his leather tunic. He remembered the feel of the blades and look on their faces. He remembered the cold that came with death.

He remembered the nothingness that awaited him. That awaited everyone.

He was broken out of his dreary reflections by the sound of quiet footsteps. Jon looked up and saw his sister gliding towards him. Her red hair bouncing behind her. So similar but so different from Ygritte’s. He sighed, he didn’t want another argument. Not here in the godswood. “Jon –”

“Leave it, Sansa,” he snapped, annoyed.

“Jon, I’m not here to argue.” Sansa replied softly as she sat down on an adjacent root, smoothing out her dark dress. “You’re leaving at dawn, I didn’t want to part on bad terms.”

Jon smiled softly. Sansa was the one sibling he never truly got along with. Bran and Rickon were too young to care about his bastard status. Rob never seemed to care, and Arya, Arya cared even less about station and titles. Sansa took after her mother.

The memories of his lost siblings brought warmth to his heart. He had long since mourned for them. Their deaths still pained him, but he chose to focus on the good. Even a king cannot change the past.

“Aye, you’re right to be concerned but we both know Lord Tyrion isn’t that type of man.”

It looked as if Sansa wanted to argue but let the topic drop. “I don’t want you to go. I’ve been alone for so long Jon. We just got Winterfell back and now you’re leaving.”

His heart went out for his little sister. “You’re not going to be alone. Lady Brienne and Podrick will be here. The Northern Lords and the Lords of the Vale are loyal to you.” _Even Littlefinger,_ Jon grimaced at the thought of the slimy man, but there was little he could do now. He had to trust Sansa. She was no longer the girl who love songs and dreamed of marrying a golden-haired prince.

“They’re not my family,” Sansa said, her voice wavering. The sun had set and the godswood fell into near complete darkness. The only source of light was a distant touch that marked the entrance to the ancient grove. Jon didn’t need light to guide his way.

Winterfell may have changed but the godswood had not.

He reached out and took her hand. trying to reassure her. “You’re strong and smart. You’re the Lady of Winterfell now Sansa. Father would be proud.” A teary-eyed smile grew on Sansa’s face. “We should get back. We both have long days tomorrow I’d imagine.”

That night was restless. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper night’s sleep. Not since he joined the Night’s Watch and definitely not since he left it. The morbid side of him wanted to say that the last time he truly slept, was when he was dead.

The following morning didn’t fare any better. He yawned as he watched a stable boy saddle his horse. The air was crisp and unforgivably cold. Winter was here. All around him, men readied their horses, double checked their belongings and said their goodbyes. Something Jon had already done. He left Sansa with a promise to return and reassuring words. The North was hers now and it was in good hands.

He pulled his fur cloak tight and gripped his sword out of habit. He was eager to get on the road. A small part of him was excited. He had never been south. His entire life had been spent in the North. He only wished the circumstances were different. “Ready to move out?” The voice of Ser Davos would’ve startled him if he wasn’t so tired.

“Aye, how long do you suppose it will take to reach Dragonstone?”

“Difficult to say – With clear weather, few days ride to White Harbor. Strong winds – about a week from White Harbor to Dragonstone.” Jon nodded, a fortnight, maybe less if he was lucky, till he met the Dragon Queen.

He mounted his horse and watched as the others did the same. Shaking off his fatigue, he began to lead the men out of the courtyard, through Winter Town and into the North.

He silently prayed he wasn’t leading his men to their deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter. Things will pick up next chapter.


End file.
